


Some Moments Last Forever, And Some Flare Out With Love, Love, Love

by singagainsoon



Series: "The Things That Stay" 'verse [7]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Science Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singagainsoon/pseuds/singagainsoon
Summary: Deciding to send that first text message to Newton Geiszler is simultaneously the best and worst thing Hermann could have done.





	Some Moments Last Forever, And Some Flare Out With Love, Love, Love

It is a warm early summer day the first time Hermann allows himself the sweet reverie that daydreaming brings. He is not outside, of course - he is stationed at the end of the long table in the dining hall, an awkward bookend to his colleagues’ aimless chatter. His book is open on the table in front of him - a hefty biography of Alan Turing, courtesy of Newton’s good sense and better eye for literature - pages fanning in either direction, but he cannot bring himself to feign interest in it.

He is fifteen again, knobby knees pressed anxiously together beneath the table at lunch, swallowing anxious bites of his sandwich along with whatever stunted conversation he might have hoped to make, lost in the whirlwind of laughter around him. He is seventeen, beginning his first college course, small and strange in the churning sea of classmates. He is twenty, still gangly and sharp and ever out of place.

So he stays quiet, makes himself smaller at the end of the table and tries to shrink away. He wishes he’d had the foresight to bring his legal pad, to sit alone so he could manage a few paragraphs without anyone poking good-natured fun at him or attempting to read his handwriting over his shoulder. Even tapping out an email would be conspicuous enough to cause his peers’ suspicion. Newton is no one’s business but his own. Anything, though, would be preferable to sitting here like an unwanted party guest.

Idle chit chat has never come easily to Hermann, as much as he wishes that even some small bit of average social skill had ended up in his repertoire somehow. He takes a bite of his sandwich - chicken salad, lightly salted, heavily peppered - and pretends he is unbothered. 

If Newton was here, they would be eating together - talking, Newton gesturing wildly (Hermann is almost certain that he is the kind of person who talks with his hands), knees touching under the table just lightly enough to send a little thrill up Hermann’s spine. They could eat in the dining hall, or in one of the restaurants down the block, or even in Hermann’s apartment at the small two-person table by the tall window that overlooks his neighbors. Newton can charm the socks off anyone in his vicinity, Hermann is sure of this, but he would choose instead to sit with Hermann, to grin at him from across the table, to pull him sweetly into exciting orbit around him.

Perhaps Newton would like to be outside on such a pleasant day. 

He adjusts his fantasy just a bit, places them out on the stretch of the campus’s green lawn instead. It is a bit too hot for Hermann’s taste, but he will suffer the heat if it means he’ll at last have some all-too-welcome company. Newton would laugh at him warmly for his poor forethought, say “A sweater? In this heat?” and insist on Hermann taking it off. After they had finished with lunch, he thinks that Newton would let him rest his head in his lap, prattle on endlessly about his research while Hermann lay in the grass with his tired eyes closed. 

His heart aches.

A light bulb switches on suddenly in the front of Hermann’s head, just behind his eyes, and he pulls his phone from his pocket to thumb through his sparse contacts list. 

_ Newton _

His finger hovers over the message icon, trembling. Logically, there is no reason  _ not  _ to compose a text message. It's not as if the letters will stop once they begin texting - since Newton had enclosed his email address in one of his more recent written responses, they had taken to sending things through the regular mail just for the sake of it. And yet, Hermann is afraid.  _ No _ , he refuses to say that he is afraid. Cautious, hesitant, yes. But what if Newton wants to call him one day? What if he runs out of things to say to the only person he has ever felt so infinitely close to?

There is an element of instability, uncertainty that makes every atom in Hermann’s body rattle wildly. He has never been a thrill seeker, and the challenge that presents itself here is far more daunting than any scientific obstacle he has ever faced. 

His heart pounds in his ears, and Hermann Gottlieb leaps off the proverbial cliff and into the abyss of the unknown.

 

* * *

_ 8:24 A.M.: Hello, Newton. I apologize for not taking the time to compose a message sooner. I have found myself occupied with my work, though I assure you, I have not forgotten our correspondence. -H _

When Newt manages to sit upright and wipe the sleep from his eyes, the last thing he expects is a text from Hermann, of all people. Sure, yeah, he'd been thinking about it a little (okay, a  _ lot _ ), it was really the only thing Newt had the time to think about, in fact; but he didn't actually expect Hermann to text him. Okay, maybe he’d been thinking about it and just  _ maybe  _ that thinking had bled seamlessly into a dream involving he and Hermann strolling through an aquarium, side-by-side. When he scribbled his phone number at the bottom of his last letter, he wasn't even sure that Hermann had a phone in the first place. Until then, he'd been kind of picturing Hermann sitting quietly in a little room with nothing but some paper and maybe a typewriter and an old-timey rotary phone.

But that was stupid.

It is 9:16 now, and he feels a sad pang of guilt at making Hermann wait so long for a reply. He pictures Hermann’s face pinched into a disapproving frown - or worse, a  _ disappointed  _ frown, sad and softer at the edges. He is halfway through taking a selfie, sleepy and disheveled to prove that he had only just awakened, before he changes his mind. 

_ 9:27 A.M.: omg no its totally fine ive been bisy too _

_ 9:27 A.M.: *******busy  _

_ 9:28 A.M.: im really glad to hear from you though  _

“Ah, fuck, is that too eager?” Newt asks the silence of his bedroom. He flops onto his back on the bed and wipes his hands down his face like it might erase the fact that he's a disaster. It doesn’t. “ _ Ugh _ , I don't want him to think I don't care, though.”

He imagines Hermann hunched grandly over a difficult equation, pausing only to glance at his phone. He imagines Hermann’s face melting into a smile. It's small, but it's there and it’s sweet. He’s probably wearing a sweater - no,  _ definitely  _ wearing a sweater. Newt can’t imagine him in anything that’s not a sweater, as much as he’s been trying to do just that for days and days in his precious spare time.

Newt forces himself out of bed with the intention of maybe brushing his teeth and maybe also getting dressed, but his feet won't let him do anything other than pace the length of his room, stepping over little mounds of dirty clothes and a pile of textbooks.

When Hermann’s reply  _ dings _ , Newt all but launches himself across the room. 

_ 9:49 am: I have a presentation to give shortly, but once it has concluded, I am “all yours” as they say. -H _

God, Hermann is so fucking smart. Newt is too, and he knows that, but every time he thinks of Hermann, he's floored to have found an intellectual equal. A  _ cute _ equal who spent hours trying to one-up him in  _ Star Trek  _ trivia one night last week (and kind of succeeded, but who was counting?)

_ 9:51 am: good luck omg!!! dont fuck up!!!!!! _

_ 9:54 am: It might behoove you to take your own advice. -H _

_ 9:55 am: (In the event that I did not convey my tone the way I intended, that was meant almost entirely as a joke.) -H _

_ 9:56 am: ur such a dork _

 

* * *

_ 12:34 am: hey are u up _

_ 12:37 am: i played a show tonight and like. bombed it was so bad _

_ 12:37 am: so so so bad _

_ 12:38 am: idk why i even bother _

_ 12:51 am: I am terribly sorry to hear that. At least you have biology still. You are incredibly smart, Newton. No one can take that from you. -H _

_ 1: 16 am: If you would like to speak over the phone, I am available. -H _

 

* * *

 

Nothing thrills Newt like playing a new song for the first time except the parties that follow, whether at a dive bar or at someone’s shitty apartment, wherever they can manage to cram their entourage. It isn't all fans, though; it's friends of friends and friends of fans and people who just can't function without some sort of excitement all shoved into the dingy space of their frontman’s apartment.

Newt knocks back his second shot of the evening and collapses heavily onto Rob’s fake leather sofa. It’s cracking in places and sagging in the middle and definitely from a thrift store, but he pretends not to notice. Hermann would probably refuse to even sit on it. Newt’s head is already swimming, half due to the excitement of it all and half due to his embarrassingly low alcohol tolerance. Yeah, Hermann wouldn’t sit on the sofa if his life depended on it. Rob breezes by, handing him a red solo cup and shouting something that Newt can't make out over the din of the party. The overblown bass of the song they're playing thumps in time with his heart, and he taps his foot idly. 

“You're the- the what? The drums? I love drummers.” 

She is tall and slender, like she stepped right out of some fashion magazine, except Newt is pretty sure that denim cutoffs and Birkenstocks aren't really considered “fashion”. But he supposes she’s cute. She looks a little bit like somebody he might run into at the cafe or on the street and try to ask on a date, but he can’t really focus on her features, even with his glasses on. She raises her eyebrows nearly as high as she'd raised her voice, watches him expectantly as he scratches his head. 

“No, uh, keyboard. I'm Newt.”

“What?”

“I'm Newt!” He shouts, scooting to one side to make room for her to sit down. 

“Kelly!” She smiles at him, bright in the low light from the lamps scattered around the room, but stays standing. Her eyes find his tattoos almost instantly, settling on his half-finished sleeve poking out from under the his t-shirt. Newt feels himself go red beneath the frames of his glasses and internally curses himself for it. “What's the story there? Are those-”

“Yeah.” He shifts under her wide-eyed scrutiny. People either love the kaiju or they hate them, and he never knows which until it’s too late. “So what do you do?”

“What do I do?”

“Like, uh- like, I'm a biologist when I'm not doing this.”

Kelly laughs, flat like perhaps she didn't hear him or it went over her head of curls. “Oh.”

Newt knows how this conversation will go. She’ll circle back to the topic of his tattoos, and she'll either be excited about them or pretend to think they’re cool and then whisper about him afterwards for having kaiju tattooed on his body. She doesn't care about his degrees, his work, his strides in his field, the stuff he really wants to brag about. No one does, not genuinely. They don't even care that much about his music.

If Hermann was here, they’d be squished side by side onto the couch, even though it’s gross and old, hips touching. Hermann might brush his fingers against Newt’s, link their pinkies or let his head fall onto Newt’s shoulder. He’d be tired and maybe a little grouchy, but in an endearing way. Even if he didn’t like the music, he would have had something witty to say to make Newt laugh. He doesn't know if Hermann drinks. He does know that Hermann isn't exactly a party guy, but Newt likes to think he’d tag along for his sake. If the party got boring, they could go back to Newt’s place maybe, hole up on the couch and watch tv until they fell asleep. Or go to bed.

Newt downs his drink in one gulp, his face pinching at the burn of the alcohol, and pulls his phone from his back pocket. He pretends he has a text message, an absolutely fascinating one, and raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. 

“Everything okay?” Kelly asks, sipping her own drink.

Newt nods. He scrolls discreetly through his contacts, hesitating only briefly over Hermann’s name. The dial tone makes his stomach flip, but in a really good way.

“Yeah, I’m good. I, uh, I have a- I gotta go take a shit-  _ Hey _ , Herm!”

There is a pause on the other end of the phone, a silence that makes Newt’s heart jump into his throat almost as much as the sound he’s waiting for, before Hermann’s distinct accent comes across the line. “Newton?”

“Hold on, like, one second, okay?” Newt scrambles to shut himself in Rob’s poor excuse for a bathroom before anyone can stop him, weaving clumsily through the sea of people in various states of drunkenness. He climbs into the bathtub, pulls his knees to his chest like it might bring Hermann nearer to him somehow.

“Did I, uh- are you awake? I mean, you're awake  _ now _ obviously, but were you sleeping?” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, ducking his head in embarrassment like Hermann can see him through the phone. Even in the bathroom, the music from the party thumps through the floor.  _ Jeez, what do the neighbors think about this? _

Hermann’s voice is soft. “No, I wasn't quite sleeping. I was actually just brushing my teeth.”

There is a rustle on Hermann’s end of the phone, a slim body sliding between sheets and settling there. Newt smiles. He wonders what Hermann wears to bed and then immediately hates himself for even thinking about it. “Ah, shit, I should’ve asked before I called. You can, uh, go to sleep if you wanna. I won't mind.”

“Yes you will.” Hermann chuckles, the sound low and throaty. Newt’s pulse flutters; it makes him sick, nauseous and kind of floaty but in the way that makes him want to feel like that all the time until it stresses him out so much that he finally dies of a Hermann-induced heart attack. “I don't mind staying awake a while longer, Newton, really. Is everything quite alright?”

“Why- Oh, yeah. Yeah! I'm fine. I guess I just… I dunno, I felt like I should call. That’s dumb, huh?” 

“‘Dumb’?” There is a pause during which Newt imagines Hermann smiling to himself in the dark of his bedroom, folding his hands neatly across his blanket. Newt closes his eyes and leans his head back to rest against the cool vinyl wall. God, Hermann’s dumb hair is probably all ruffled and messy. “No, I think not.”

“Y’know, I just- I, uh, I wrote this song the other day, and Rob doesn’t wanna play it. I worked hard on it, though, like it’s not  _ easy _ to write music, y’know, and-” The bathroom door swings open, startling Newt into sitting upright like he’d been caught with his hand stuffed into the proverbial cookie jar before dinner. Kelly doesn't even pause in the doorway. She saunters into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her with her foot, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“What is that racket?”

“What are you doin’ in here when there’s a whole party happening out there?”

“Ever heard of  _ privacy?  _ What if I was shitting?” He cringes at the way his voice cracks and jumps three octaves. If Hermann didn't know he was obnoxious before, he sure as fuck knew it now.

“You wouldn’t have left the door unlocked. Who's that?” Kelly asks, leaning over the hard edge of the tub and towards Newt’s ear. She makes a playful grab for the phone.

“Newton, is someone there with you?”

“It’s- he's- hey, stop! Herm, are you still-”

“‘Herm’, huh? That your boyfriend?” 

“Who is that?” Hermann’s voice clips at the end of his sentence, barely noticeable but still there like a micro splinter or a fresh hair trim.

Newt rolls his eyes and hopes he sounds like he’s rolling them. His heart gives a painful twinge, a stab through the alcohol-induced haze. “I'm at a party. My, uh, my band played earlier, and I got dragged along to this stupid thing. I don't even wanna be here. It’s just, y’know, one of those things.”

Kelly sits on the porcelain lip of the bathtub and swings her legs around clumsily to plant her feet beside the bend of Newt’s legs. She grins down at him, wags her cup teasingly in his direction. “C’mon, party pooper.”

“I have to go, Newton.”

“Herm, no, wait-  _ Kelly _ , stop.” Newt waves a hand dismissively in her direction. Kelly leans closer to his face, her cup wobbling in her drunk grip. He can smell the alcohol on her breath and wonders just how much it is that she’s had to drink. She nudges the cup at him again, tipping it too far and sloshing warm beer onto Newt’s black skinny jeans. Even as the lukewarm drink makes contact with his legs, he knows it’s not her fault, not really, and he knows that she’s just drunk and actually kind of sweet, but on the other hand, he feels Hermann’s voice slipping steadily away from him. He drops the phone in shock and fumbles to rescue it from the floor. “ _ Jesus _ , dude, look what you did! Hermann, are you there still? Herm?” 

He pulls the phone away from his ear to be met with a  _ Call Ended  _ screen that feels like a brass-knuckled punch to the gut.

 

* * *

 

Hermann is tucked securely into bed for the evening, glasses set on the nightstand, hot water bottle soothing the dull, throbbing pain in his hip, when he receives a text from Newton. He had been contemplating the possibility of a brief bit of stress-relieving self-indulgence in the form of masturbation, but sets the idea aside as quickly as it surfaced and instead reaches for his cell phone when the tiny  _ pings  _ start seeming somehow more urgent.

_ 2:10 am: hey do u think that kaiju like music _

_ 2:10 am: like theyre so big idk if they can even hear it _

_ 2:10 am: guess it depends how loud??? the music in question is _

_ 2:10 am: i feel like maybe theyd Hear it but _

_ 2:11 am: could they make any sense of it _

_ 2:11 am: like do they understand languages?? any language, not just english _

_ 2:12 am: they have their own language (in a way) but i guess idk if they can decipher other language s _

_ 2:12 am: probably not _

_ 2:14 am: thots ???????? _

Hermann eyes his phone in mild disbelief, mouth hanging ajar, brows creasing. He should, logically, shut the device off and go to sleep. He should close his eyes and imagine that Newton is sleeping, as well. He is only down the hall, no doubt splayed across his PPDC-issued mattress, his glasses probably pushed up onto his forehead as he types, snug in a rumpled old t-shirt. (Or perhaps he sleeps in his underwear? His cheeks burn at the thought, and he smothers it.) Hermann is glad, at least, that Newton had the common sense to text him these pressing queries instead of knocking on his door with them.

But it makes Hermann feel nostalgic, brings him back to the nights before they had met when he would lay awake and wondering if Newton was thinking of him, too, wherever he was, whatever he was doing.

_ 2:22 am: You’re the resident Kaiju expert; you tell me. I expect evidence to back up any claims. -H _

 

 

* * *

 

_ Hello, Newton. I suppose you're indisposed at the moment, but I would appreciate a return call when you're available. _

 

_ 2:43 am: I believe I might have made a breakthrough with regards to something I've been working on lately, if you're interested. -H _

 

_ Newton, are you there? I- ah, as much as I'd rather not admit it, I have been suffering from nightmares these days. And I rather miss you. Quite terribly, in fact. If you find yourself with some time in the near future, I would like to catch up over dinner. Or perhaps lunch, if that suits you better.  _

 

_ 6:13 am: I received news of your upcoming visit and I am greatly looking forward to seeing you. There is a restaurant downtown that I think you would like, my treat. -H _

 

_ Newton, I miss you. _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who encouraged me to post this! here it is !! find me on twitter @kaijubf!!!!!!!


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